


The Kings and the Slave Market

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [51]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Drama, Drugged Sex, Flogging, Love Story, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Oral Sex, Sea Voyage, Sexual Slavery, Slave auction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil is standing on the auction block in the slave market of Umbar.  How on earth did he finish up there?  Why isn’t he protesting?  And, where’s Thorin?  Another of my standalone Thorinduil stories which belongs to a much bigger arc of 50 episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Slave Market

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Slave Market

 

Pt I

 

Unusually for Thorin, a not-morning person, he awoke earlier than Thranduil on that particular day.  Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising since the elven king had had so many exhausting meetings with others of his kind all week in the Grey Havens.  Thorin had travelled with him in order to keep him company on the long ride and to be a sounding-board for his partner should he wish to mull over any of the discussions after elves from all over Middle-earth had gathered together to contribute information about the state of their part of the country.  Even Elrond and Galadriel were there and it had given the dwarf pleasure to see them again.

 

But, that had been about the only pleasure.  Before they had set out, he had wondered if he would be moved by seeing the Grey Havens again.  After Smaug had driven out the dwarves of Erebor, the remnants had made their way to Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains, not far from this town.  He had visited when he had to but that was only occasionally.  It was a place of elves and men: dwarves were hardly seen there and, when they were, they were stared at and made to feel unwelcome.  Thorin gave a wry smile as he remembered the odd brawl in one of the local taverns with the rough seamen from off the trading ships which docked in the harbour there.  He and his companions had given as good as they had got but he was past such things now.

 

He had wondered when they had first arrived whether Thranduil’s presence would moderate the aggressiveness of the stares but, in fact, it had made it worse.  Those elves who didn’t know them but had heard of their marriage lifted their lips in a disgusted sneer; those who didn’t know them or their circumstances at all still stared to see an elf and a dwarf walking in apparent companionship down the street together.  Thorin sighed.  It was like starting all over from square one again.  And he thought through the years it had taken him to make himself acceptable to the elves of Mirkwood.

 

He lay there, watching the sun come up through the large windows of the town house they had rented and listening to the mournful cry of the white gulls as they circled overhead.  They made him feel a certain melancholy and he wondered, just for a moment, if it had all been worth it.  But, then he turned towards his partner as he lay there, sprawled beside him.  What a stupid question to ask, he thought.  Of course it was all worth it!  After a hot night, the coverlet had been tossed on the floor and he had a complete view of the elf in all his beauty: his smooth, marble skin; his shining, platinum hair, spread all about him in a great fan; his slim but supple and muscled limbs lying gracefully on the starched sheets; and his impressive genitals, the cock with its pierced tip and pearling, features especially acquired to give his partner pleasure and done purely out of love for his One.

 

Thorin felt a wave of emotion run through him, as he always did when he thought of that generous gesture; for, such mutilation was not an elven thing and Thranduil had endured the assault on his body to show his deep love for the dwarf.  And, sensing a prickle of tears in his eyes, Thorin bent his head and gently nuzzled the elf’s crotch.

 

Finally, Thranduil began to stir, stretching his limbs sensuously and allowing his thighs to fall languorously apart.

 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured.

 

Thorin had no intention of stopping.  Instead, he drew the elf’s rapidly hardening prick into his mouth and sucked it until it was stiff enough and wet enough for him to sit aside his slender thighs and force it up his backside.  Then he rode the two of them to completion.

 

Gasping, they lay in each other’s arms for a while, until, finally, they had the breath to speak.

 

“I’m going down to the harbour this morning,” said Thranduil.  “Are you coming with me?”

 

The previous evening, they had eaten out at one of the inns, _The Mithril Crown_.  But, it had been crowded and they had been forced to share their table with two men.  Their hearts had sunk as the pair had approached, expecting odd stares and even some rude asides.  All they wanted was a quiet evening.  But, the two had been polite enough.

 

“May we?” asked one, gesturing to the empty chairs.  And when the barman had come to take their order, they had bought the kings a bottle of good wine, “…in return for putting up with our presence.”

 

Thorin had thanked them graciously and, after that, they had gradually fallen into a conversation which soon became quite lively.   The older of the two was a trader, Tom Fletcher, captain of _The Sea Horse_ , and, after parting with this information, the man lifted an enquiring eyebrow, expecting some reciprocal information.  Thorin went for broke.

 

“I am Thorin of Erebor,” he said tentatively.  “And this is my partner, Thranduil of Mirkwood.”

 

He expected some drawing away, an excuse to leave their company.  But, their names obviously meant nothing to the pair and the term ‘partner’ was misconstrued.

 

Tom gave a relaxed grin.  “And this is my partner, Matt Cooper,” he volunteered amiably.  “He travels with me as first mate on _The Sea Horse_.”

 

The two kings decided not to put him right but spent the rest of the evening chatting about both the advantages and difficulties involved in trading as far as Near Harad in the south of Middle-earth.  Neither elf nor dwarf had ever been there – it was rather a hostile place - nor had Thranduil ever travelled on a ship.  He was fascinated and asked so many questions that, finally, Tom invited him to come aboard the following morning for a tour before they set off on their next trip.

 

“Are you coming?” asked the elf again, as he got dressed.  But Thorin snuggled down further into his pillows.

 

“Too tired,” he yawned.  “I’ll meet you in _The Mithril Crown_ for lunch.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Lunch time came and went and Thorin was still waiting.   He had become increasingly anxious and, in the end, he felt he could wait no more.  Where in Middle-earth was he?   And his anger disguised his fear.

 

Hours earlier, Thranduil had enjoyed his guided tour of _The Sea Horse_ and now he was sitting in the captain’s cabin, drinking a glass of wine with Tom and his partner.  His eyes shone with excitement and he was already planning a voyage for himself and Thorin.  The wine was excellent and he was on his second glass.  He realised it was making him feel unusually good-natured and obliging and he smiled at the power of this vintage: he would have to order a few barrels for Mirkwood.  There was nothing he liked more than an obliging Thorin.  And he laughed out loud at his little joke. 

The two men looked at each other.

 

“So…..you like our vessel?” Tom asked.

 

Yes, she’s beautiful,” Thranduil replied.  “I must journey with you at some future date.”

 

“How about today?” Matt offered.  “We have a cabin all ready and waiting for you and we sail within the hour.”

 

To Thranduil, this suddenly seemed like a good suggestion.  “Yes, why not?” he replied.  “But what about Thorin?”

 

“He can come next time,” soothed Tom.  “And I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to miss this opportunity, now, would he?”

 

No, Thorin was thoughtful like that, the elven king decided, and he nodded his agreement.

 

They showed him to his cabin and he lay down to rest.  Sleepily, he heard the cries of the seamen in the background as the sails were raised and the clanking of the anchor as it was weighed.  Then he fell asleep.

 

“Well, that was easy,” said Tom as he peered around the door.  “That stuff works beautifully every time.  Much more effective than bashing someone over the head and then chaining them up.”  And when he shut the door quietly behind him, he couldn’t even be bothered to lock it.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin was down in the harbour looking for _The Sea Horse_ but it was no longer in dock.  He hurried over to a group of men who were talking and smoking on the quay: they looked as if they might know about the movement of ships.  They gave the dwarf a disdainful look but he handed over a gold coin and they were more forthcoming.

 

“ _The Sea Horse?_   Oh, yes,” said one.  “She left some hours ago.  Sailing down to Umbar.”

 

“Umbar!”  exclaimed Thorin.  “Is the captain a Corsair?”  The Corsairs were feared pirates and slavers from Near Harad, south of Gondor, and Umbar was their great city, built in ages past by the Numenoreans on a sheltered bay.  Thorin remembered the threats from his childhood: “Stop being naughty or we shall sell you to the Corsairs!”  It was very effective.

 

“No, he’s not a Corsair but he trades with them,” laughed the man.  “Very lucrative, apparently.”

 

A feeling of dread was beginning to come upon him.   “You didn’t, by any chance, see an elf board the ship before she sailed?” he asked.  And he offered another coin.

 

“Well, yes,” was the answer.  “Tall, blond, wearing a blue silk robe?”

 

“And you didn’t see him leave?”

 

“No-o-o,” replied the man slowly.  He was a decent sort and was beginning to suspect the worst.  “There have been some vague rumours that Tom Fletcher is into kidnapping,” he offered hesitantly.  “People board his ship and are never seen again – or so they say.”

 

Thorin began to shake.  “I must go after him,” he muttered, stumbling away.

 

The man, Sam Johnson, took pity on him and seized him by the arm, leading him to one of the coils of rope that he and his mates were all seated on.   “Sit down,” he ordered, seeing the look of shock glazing the dwarf’s eyes.  “A friend of yours, is he?” he asked, surprised that this should be so.

 

“Yes, we’re very close.”

 

“Well, _The Sea Horse_ will take some catching.  She’s very fast and, even then, it takes a month to reach the city.  Very few of us here trade with Umbar and another vessel won’t be going that way for at least a week.”  Thorin’s heart sank even further into his boots.  “And it’s my feeling that he’ll be sold in the slave markets down there.  Who knows where he’ll be taken?  It seems to me,” he said gently, “that this is a fruitless task.”

 

“We’ve escaped from slavers before,” said Thorin resolutely.  But, that was when they had had Bilbo and his magic ring to help them, a little voice whispered.

 

He returned to the town house to think.  Galadriel and Elrond had already left or he would have sought their help.  He had a choice.  He could inform the elves of the Grey Havens and perhaps – just perhaps – they could gather an army together powerful enough to confront Umbar and rescue the King of Mirkwood.  But, that might involve a long siege and the deaths of many with no certainty that they would succeed.

 

Or….he could go on his own and use his own intelligence and cunning to rescue the one he loved.

 

He decided on the latter course.

 

The next day, he was down in the harbour again, making enquiries about _The White Hart_ – a propitious name.  Sam explained she was a schooner which sometimes traded in wine – and only wine, he was assured – as far as Umbar.  She was due to arrive in a week and to leave on the following day.  Thorin was determined to be on her.

 

“Do you want a job?” he asked Sam.

 

.o00o.

 

Meanwhile, Thranduil had woken from his sleep.  He was only vaguely surprised to find himself in the cabin of a ship – and one that appeared to be at sea.  His mouth was dry and he helped himself to a glass of wine from a carafe that stood by his bed.  And then he wandered off somewhat vacantly to find the captain.

 

He found Tom leaning on the railing and staring out at a rough sea.  “Where are we heading?” he asked, with only a small degree of interest.

 

“Umbar,” replied the captain.  “It should take a month.”

 

“That long?” said Thranduil.  “Well, I’m sure I shall enjoy it.”  And he wandered dreamily back to his cabin, there to have another rest.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

But, in fact, the month passed quite quickly for the elven king, especially as he slept most of his time away.  When he was awake, he often ate in the captain’s cabin where Tom and Matt did their best to prepare him for what lay ahead.

 

“You’re very beautiful,” said Tom.

 

“I know,” replied Thranduil.  This was said without arrogance but merely stated as a matter of fact.

 

“Not many in the city of Umbar have ever seen an elf – only those who have sailed to the Grey Havens to trade.  Many will come to look at you and to stare.  You won’t object to that.”  This was said almost as an order.

 

“No,” responded the elf obligingly.

 

“And if they want to touch you, that will only be natural, of course.”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil.

 

“And many will fall in love with you.”

 

“I expect so,” said Thranduil, not at all surprised.

 

“And a special one will doubtless want to take you home, to look after you and pet you.”  Tom spoke as if to a child, planting ideas in his captive’s suggestible mind.

 

“Yes, doubtless,” echoed Thranduil.

 

“Well, we’re glad that that’s understood,” said Matt, grinning across at his mate.  “Time for another glass of wine, don’t you think?”

 

.o00o.

 

They finally docked in Umbar, a magnificent city, built in stone around a beautiful bay.

 

“Shall we go ashore?” Tom asked Thranduil.

 

“That would be nice,” was the reply.

 

“Perhaps you should wear a new robe,” suggested Matt.  And he produced a silvery, diaphanous gown.

 

Thranduil’s eyes glowed.  He loved new clothes and this was very lovely.  It didn’t seem to bother him that the material was so sheer.

 

They made their way ashore and a crowd of people was soon following them.  On the quay was an auction block and Tom helped the elven king onto it.  “You want everyone to see and admire you, don’t you?”  And Thranduil agreed.

 

The crowd grew larger and more animated.  The beautiful elf was actually up for sale!  Unbelievable!  Word was spreading fast and the richest men of Umbar hastened down to the docks to make their bids.  As Thranduil stood quietly upon the block, gazing vacantly into the distance and looking quite stunning in his silvery robe, the excitement became palpable.

 

“Do you think he’s drugged?” asked one young woman of her friend.

 

“Looks like it,” was the reply.  “How else could you possibly control such a magnificent specimen?”

 

“Just look at that hair and that body and that cock!” exclaimed a potential buyer, as the sun shone through the sheer gown, disclosing everything.  “Can you imagine having _that_ in your bed?!”

 

“Whatever he costs!” muttered another with a determined look on his face.  “Whatever he costs!”

 

Tom and Matt stood there smugly, listening to these remarks. They would retire on the proceeds of this sale, auction the ship and make for Minas Tirith.  They daren’t return to The Grey Havens, not with that big dwarf waiting for them, could they?  And if he had come after them, they would still have at least a week in which to settle their business and disappear.

 

Unobserved, at the rear of the crowd, stood the richest resident of Umbar.  A good-looking man who had inherited much of his wealth, he was tall, bronzed and slender and his black hair fell long and lustrous about his shoulders, with much of it pulled back from his forehead and tied into a complex plait.  He stared at Thranduil for a long time; then he finally turned to his man-servant and murmured, “Buy him,” before setting out for his home.  He would not sully his own hands in commercial dealings but his trusted slave knew what to do.

 

.o00o.

 

As Tom and Matt had guessed, Thorin was in hot pursuit, only a week behind.  _The White Hart_ was as fast as, if not faster than, _The Sea Horse_ and the dwarven king had spent a large sum of money in purchasing passages to Umbar for both him and Sam in two of the best cabins.

 

“Blimey!” said Sam.  “Never travelled as posh as this before.”

 

“And I’m expecting you to earn it,” replied Thorin grimly.

 

They made an effort to insinuate themselves into the good books of Captain Meriweather and paid extra to dine with him every evening.  All three grew to like each other.

 

“I’ll be 36 hours in Umbar,” said the captain at one point.  “Will you two be returning with me?”

 

“Depends,” growled Thorin, “on whether or not I complete my business there before you sail.”

 

And may I ask what your business is?” he asked, not wanting to pry but being very curious nonetheless.

 

Thorin sat back in his chair and decided that the time had come for the truth.

 

“A week before we boarded this ship,” he said, “my partner – my husband – was kidnapped by the captain of _The Sea Horse_.  He has been taken down to Umbar, presumably to be sold in the slave market there.”  Both men gaped at the revelation that the dwarf was actually married to an elf!

 

When the captain had recovered, he responded to the news of the kidnapping just as Sam had done: “I’m afraid, lad, that your – ummm – partner has been lost for good.”

 

“No!” shouted Thorin, standing up and banging his fist on the table.  “I shall never accept that!”

 

And when they looked doubtful, he drew himself up to his full height and said:

 

“I am Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and my partner, Thranduil, is the elven king of Mirkwood.  We shall never give up until we find each other!”

 

The two seamen sat with their mouths wide open.

 

“Will you help me?” asked Thorin.  “All I want is a passage back to The Grey Havens for Thranduil and a promise that you will try to leave with all speed once we have him aboard.”

 

“It – it will be an honour to assist you,” stuttered Captain Meriweather.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The bidding for Thranduil was hotting up.  At first, it seemed that a whole sea of hands were waving in the air, but gradually, as his price soared, all but the richest dropped out.  Finally, the crowd concluded that one of the wealthy Corsair pirates would win the prize.  But, just as he made ready to claim the beautiful elf, a soft voice from the rear offered a truly staggering sum and the Corsair, with a shake of his head, backed out of the fight.  “Sold to the servant of Prince Castor,” said the auctioneer.

 

Ah, but of course, thought the crowd.  No contest.

 

“You’re to go with this man,” said Tom to Thranduil.  “His master will look after you.”

 

Thranduil smiled agreeably and, behind his back, Tom handed the servant a bottle.  “A drop of this in a glass of wine will keep him docile.  I’m sure you know of an alternative once this runs out.”

 

The servant nodded and pocketed the drug.  And then Tom and Matt walked laughing and exultant down to the dock to arrange the sale of their ship.

 

.o00o.

 

The prince’s mansion was very large and splendid.  Thranduil was shown to a marble pool room and invited to take a bath.

 

“You stink of that ship,” said the servant, Brand.

 

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” agreed the elf.  And he climbed into the warm, scented water.

 

The servant watched him enviously.  He was so very beautiful and he wondered how long the newcomer would last in his master’s bed.  He, himself, had been the prince’s lover for a few months several years ago when he had first been purchased as his slave.  It had all been very wonderful and his heart had been broken when Castor’s butterfly fancies had alighted on another.  But his intelligence and devotion had been valued and now he was the prince’s right-hand man.  He tried to be content with his lot – he was strong and handsome and could have been sold as a galley slave or – worse – as the sex slave to someone old, fat and ugly.  But, his eyes still followed the prince sadly around the room and he wished that things were otherwise.

 

He was always assigned the task of buying and then preparing any new slave for his master’s bed and it caused him considerable pain, especially, if, like Thranduil, they were exceptionally beautiful.  And this one was an elf: what a prize!  He helped him from the bath and then dried his glorious hair vigorously in front of the hot stove.  After that, he brushed it until it shone and then turned to a side table where items of jewellery were laid out ready.  Around Thranduil’s lissom arms, just above each elbow, he clasped a gold arm ring and then he stooped and enclosed the elf’s delicately-boned ankle in a golden, filigree chain.

 

The elf looked down with interest.  “That’s pretty,” he said.  “I’ve never worn one of those before.”

 

“It’s a slave chain,” replied Brand abruptly.  “It’s worn by the prince’s favourite.”  And he remembered with longing how he had once worn this chain too.

 

“Oh, am I a slave?” asked Thranduil.

 

Brand didn’t answer and the elven king was not interested enough to pursue his question.

 

The lovely silvery gown was bundled away and no fresh clothing was offered in its place.  Thranduil didn’t mind: he had always been comfortable naked.  And, with graceful step, he followed Brand into the room next door.

 

“My lord,” said Brand with a bow.  And then he backed from the room and shut the door behind him.  Thranduil was left to examine the room and its occupant.  It was very fine in an exotic sort of way and much of it was taken up by a huge bed which was covered in silken sheets and large, silken cushions.  Castor lounged amidst these, clad only in a long, embroidered robe, open at the front.  He seemed as unconscious of his nakedness as was Thranduil of his.

 

The prince studied the elf curiously whilst the elf stood there insouciantly, exhibiting no self-consciousness but, instead, he studied his new master back.  Castor raised a languid finger.

 

“Now, that _is_ interesting,” he said.  “Why on Middle-earth would an elf tattoo a pattern onto his nipple or mutilate his cock with piercing and pearling?”

 

Thranduil’s hand touched the nipple that had ‘Thorin’s’ tattooed in dwarvish around the areola.  The mists lifted very slightly and, suddenly not wishing to part with any private details, he explained no more except to say with a shrug: “It was fashionable at the time.”

 

The prince laughed.  “I’m not complaining.  I find it very arousing.”  And, indeed, his cock was already beginning to harden.  Then he patted the bed next to him.  “Come, lie with me,” he said.  Thranduil arranged himself elegantly on the silken streets and leaned on his elbow, casually taking stock of the prince.  Castor examined him back with dark, liquid eyes and laughed at his stare.

 

“You’re very bold for a slave,” he said.  And then he dropped his voice and reached out to touch the elf’s cheek.  “But, also very beautiful,” he added in sultry tones.  His fingers caressed the tattooed nipple and then slid down to grasp Thranduil’s prick.  “I’ve been wanting to fuck you,” he breathed, “since I first saw you on the quay.”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil, undisturbed at the prospect, “I thought you did.”  The prince was very amused at the elf’s tractable nature – amenable, compliant, acquiescent - and wondered what he was like in an undrugged state.  Perhaps he should stop dosing him and find out; but he had a feeling that his new slave would then be a very dangerous creature, someone impossible to control.  The thought excited him further and, reaching for the bottle of scented oil, he pushed the elf roughly onto his back and knelt between his thighs.   

 

There, he massaged the oil into Thranduil’s cock until it became fully erect, before anointing his own swollen member.  Then he pulled the elf’s legs over his hips and thrust into him with a satisfied groan.  The thrusting was hard and prolonged – the prince was greatly experienced in the art of protracted pleasure – but, in the end, he could control himself no longer and he came on a series of violent spasms before collapsing upon Thranduil’s breast with a deep-throated grunt.

 

Castor fell asleep and the elven king lay there, feeling vaguely troubled.  That had been a rather disturbing experience: something about it had felt – wrong - and he wasn’t quite sure why.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt V

 

For the next four or five days, the prince hardly let his new sexual toy out of his sight or out of his bed.  And once he had discovered the intensity of pleasure produced by a pierced and pearled cock inside him, then that was all he wanted.  Thranduil obediently fucked him until Castor was exhausted.  In the end, he summoned Brand to the bedroom.  “The elf deserves a little treat,” said his master.  And he handed over a small pouch of gold.  “Give this to one of the guards and tell him to escort my new slave down to the market on the quay: he can buy himself a few trinkets for his services.   I need to sleep,” he yawned.  Then he pulled Thranduil into his arms and kissed him deeply.  “Have I told you today how much I love you?” he murmured.

 

Brand’s heart gave a bitter squeeze.  How many times had Castor told him that when they had been together?  And he had believed him.  The prince was entirely faithless.  But, he led the elf away without saying a word.

 

.o00o.

 

 _The White Hart_ had arrived that morning: she had made a good run with a strong wind behind her.  Thorin and Sam had disembarked as soon as the ship had docked and were searching the city for a sighting of Thranduil.  They didn’t dare make open enquiries about him – that seemed a dangerous thing to do.  Now, Thorin and his companion were returning to the quay rather downhearted at their lack of success.

 

As they approached the docks, they saw that the daily market was in full swing.  And there, bending over the items on a jewellery stall, was Thranduil!  Thorin could hardly believe it and he began to run.  But, Sam grabbed his arm and urged caution. They looked around carefully and there, in the shadows of a building overlooking the quay, was a burly slave, armed to the teeth, and watching the elf carefully.  “He’s being guarded,” whispered Sam.

 

 _The White Hart_ would not be leaving until the following day, on the noon tide, and so there was no point in grabbing the elven king now because they would be unable to set off with him.  They needed to whisk him onto the boat at about the same time the following day but would need to make contact with him while they had the chance.

 

“Block the guard’s line of sight,” murmured Thorin.  And, as the dwarf sidled along the stall towards the elf, Sam, who was as wide as he was tall, stood in such a way that the guard couldn’t see what was going on.

 

“Thranduil,” said Thorin quietly.  The elven king looked up at his voice but showed no surprise.

 

“Oh, it’s you, Thorin,” he said.  “Look, isn’t this pretty?”  And he held up a cheap necklace.

 

Thorin was taken aback at his response but then he saw the elf’s blown pupils.  Drugged!  This could make things more difficult.

 

“I came on that ship, _The White Hart_ ,” he said nodding towards the vessel.  “I expect the captain will show you around if you turn up at the same time tomorrow.  Would you like that?”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil.  “But I shan’t tell my master, Prince Castor.  He might not be pleased.”

 

Good lad, thought the dwarf.  Not so stupid.

 

Sam gave him a nudge.  “He’s on the move,” he said quietly, jerking his head towards the guard.

 

“Same time tomorrow,” said Thorin.  And then both of them were gone.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin didn’t sleep that night, worrying whether or not Thranduil would turn up the following day and also worrying about this Prince Castor.

 

“Handsome, rich, decadent, cruel,” the captain had said when Thorin had asked about him.  “I’ll do my best to rescue your partner from such a man.”

 

When Thorin did manage to nod off for the odd five minutes, it was to have nightmares about Thranduil being horribly abused by a dark-haired stranger.

 

And he was right to worry.  Castor was bored with straight sex and had brought out his selection of whips.  That night, he had flogged Thranduil until his arm was sore, annoyed that the elf was so stoical in the face of pain.  In the morning, he called Brand to attend to his weals and then he threw the servant a purse. 

 

“After a bath, let him go to the market again,” he said.

 

Brand knew the prince’s techniques from personal experience.  He brutalised his lovers one minute and spoiled them the next until they were hopelessly broken and under his control.  Castor took Thranduil in his arms and kissed him tenderly.  “These are the marks of love,” he murmured, squeezing the bruised buttocks.  “Remember how much I love you.”

 

Brand took some pleasure from seeing the lash-marks and smiled grimly.  Such treatment hadn’t prevented him from feeling a deep passion for his master; in fact, it might somehow have increased it.  And he would have endured a thousand beatings to spend one more night in Castor’s bed.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin waited anxiously for Thranduil on the quay and was relieved when he finally arrived.  The elf began to browse the stalls whilst the guard, once more, stood in the shadows and watched.  Thorin nodded to Sam who disappeared off in the direction of the guard, circling around behind him.  Meanwhile, the dwarf approached the elven king openly.  The guard frowned and took a step forward but that’s as far as he got.  Sam gave him a terrific thump around the back of the head, then pulled him quickly into an alley where he bound and gagged him.

 

“The captain’s waiting to show you his ship,” smiled Thorin brightly and the elf happily mounted the gangway with Thorin and Sam following closely behind.  The captain and his crew were ready.  They only had a short time in which to catch the tide and whilst Thorin took Thranduil below to show him the ornate captain’s cabin, the gangplank was pulled up, the ropes were untied, the anchor was raised and the sails were set.  Then they were away! 

 

Thranduil felt the movement of the ship.  “Where are we going?” he asked.

 

“Back to the Grey Havens,” said Thorin.

 

The elf looked anxious.  “But what about Castor?  He’ll be angry with me.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said Thorin, taking his hand and stroking it gently.  “I’ll look after you.”

 

At that moment, the captain came jauntily into the cabin.

 

“Beautifully executed, even though I say it myself.  Even if they work out where Thranduil’s gone and who with, there won’t be another suitable tide until tomorrow.  They’ll never catch us!”

 

Thorin took the elven king back to his own cabin.  “Come on,” he said softly.  “Let’s go to bed.”

 

Thranduil looked anxious again.  “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

 

Thorin frowned.  “Of course I won’t.”  He unbuttoned the elf’s gown and drew it over his head; but as Thranduil turned to climb into bed, he let out a gasp of horror.  He gripped him by the shoulder and spun him around.  “Did Castor do that to you?” he cried.

 

Thranduil blinked in confusion.  “They are the marks of love,” he said.  “He loves me and I love him.”

 

Thorin felt angry, jealous and upset all in a moment.  If Castor had been standing in the room, he would have killed him.  “If he loved you,” he shouted, “he wouldn’t have made you his slave or flogged you!”

 

But, when the dwarven king saw the distressed look in his lover’s eyes, he struggled to control himself.  The drug would doubtless take some time to work its way out of the elf’s system and he would have to be patient.  With a sigh, he stripped off his own clothes and pulled Thranduil down upon the bed.

“Look at me,” he whispered.  “ _I_ love you and this is what love is like.”  And he kissed him with such sweet longing that the elf smiled and snuggled into that familiar broad chest.

 

“Go to sleep now,” said the dwarf.  “And all shall be well in the morning.”

 

“Promise?” asked Thranduil with a yawn.

 

“Promise,” said Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, that was a close one.  Let’s hope that Thranduil doesn’t suffer from any after-effects.  It took me even longer to write this story, but I hope you got something out of it.   But I must admit that perhaps I have started to repeat myself since the story above has echoes of a couple of previous ones which include:**

**A story involving Bilbo, the Ring and another group of slavers called _The Kings and the Brothel_.**

**And a story where Thranduil is drugged once more, this time by a woman seeking revenge, called _The Kings and the Aphrodisiac._**

**Hope they’re different enough for you to find them entertaining!**

**PS The story before this one, just in case you missed it, is _The Kings and their Partners_ where Thorin and Thranduil, Bris and Dwalin, Dis and Damaril are all gathered together in the same place which could make life a bit difficult for some of them since they all have guilty secrets from the past. **

 

 


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